Piece of My Heart (30 page)

“That’s right. I suppose it was probably just journalistic licence, trying to impress his girlfriend.”

“Not necessarily,” said Enderby.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that Robin Merchant’s death was accidental, but that wasn’t the first time I was out at Swainsview Lodge in connection with a suspicious death.”

“Really?” said Banks. “Do tell.”

Enderby stood up. “Look, the sun’s well over the yardarm. How about we head down to my local and I’ll tell you over a pint?”

“I’m driving,” said Banks.

“That’s all right,” said Enderby. “You can buy me one and watch me drink it.”

“What took you out there?” Banks asked.

“A murder,” said Enderby, eyes glittering. “A real one that time.”

Saturday, September 20, 1969

“She won’t come out of her room,” Janet Chadwick said as she sat with her husband eating tea on Saturday evening, football results on the telly. Chadwick was filling in his pools coupon, but it was soon clear that the £2,300,800 jackpot was going to elude him this week, just as it had every other week.

Chadwick ate some toad-in-the-hole after giving it a liberal dip in the gravy. “What’s wrong with her now?”

“She won’t say. She came dashing in late this afternoon and went straight up to her room. I called to her, knocked on her door, but she wouldn’t answer.”

“Did you go in?”

“No. She has to be allowed some privacy, Stan. She’s sixteen.”

“I know. I know. But this is unusual, missing her tea like this. And it’s Saturday. Doesn’t she usually go out Saturday night?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have a word with her after tea.”

“Be careful with her, Stan. You know how on edge she seems these days.”

Chadwick touched his wife’s wrist. “I’ll be careful. I’m not really the terrible child-gobbling monster you think I am.”

Janet laughed. “I don’t think you’re a monster. She’s just at a difficult age. A father doesn’t always understand as much as a mother does.”

“I’ll tread gently, don’t worry.”

They finished their tea in silence, and while Janet went to wash the dishes, Chadwick went upstairs to try to talk to Yvonne. He tapped softly at her door but got no answer. He tapped again, a little louder, but all he heard was a muffed “Go away.” There wasn’t even any music playing. Yvonne must have had her transistor radio turned off. Another unusual sign.

Chadwick reckoned he had two choices: leave Yvonne to her own devices or simply walk in. Janet would favour the former, laissez-faire approach, no doubt, but Chadwick was in a mood to take the bull by the horns. He’d had enough of Yvonne’s sneaking around, stopping out all night, her secrets and lies and prima donna behaviour. Now was the time to see what was at the bottom of it. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked in.

The outrage he expected didn’t come. The curtains were closed, the lights off, giving the room a dim, twilit appearance. It even disguised the untidy mess of clothes and magazines on the floor and bed. At first, Chadwick couldn’t see Yvonne, then he realized she was on her bed, under the eiderdown. When his eyes adjusted, he could also see that she was shaking. Concerned, he perched on the edge of the bed and said softly, “Yvonne. Yvonne, sweetheart. What’s wrong? What is it?”

She didn’t react at first, and he sat patiently waiting, remembering when she was a little girl and came to him when she had nightmares. “It’s all right,” he said, “you can tell me. I won’t be angry with you. I promise.”

Her hand snaked out from under the eiderdown and sought his. He held it. Still she said nothing, then she slowly
slid the cover off her face, and he could see even in the weak light that she had been crying. She was still shaking, too.

“What is it, love?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“It was horrible,” she said. “
He
was horrible.”

Chadwick felt his neck muscles tense. “What? Has somebody done something to you?”

“He’s ruined everything.”

“What do you mean? You’d better tell me from the start, Yvonne. I want to understand, honestly I do.”

Yvonne stared at him, as if trying to come to a decision. He knew he came across as strict and straight and unbending, but he really did want to know what was upsetting her, and not with a view to punishment this time. Whatever she thought, and however difficult it was, he really did love his daughter. One by one, the terrible possibilities crowded in on him. Had she found out she was pregnant? Was that it? Like Linda Lofthouse when she was Yvonne’s age? Or had someone assaulted her?

“What is it?” he asked. “Did somebody hurt you?”

Yvonne shook her head. “Not like you think.” Then she launched herself into his arms, and he could feel her tears on his neck and hear her talking into his shoulder. “I was so scared, Daddy, the things he was saying. I really thought he was going to do something terrible to me. I know he had a knife somewhere. If I hadn’t run away…” She collapsed into sobs. Chadwick digested what she had said, trying to keep his fatherly anger at bay, and gently disentangled himself. Yvonne lay back on her pillows and rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. She looked like a little girl. Chadwick handed her the box of tissues from the dresser top.

“Start at the beginning,” he said. “Slowly.”

“I was at Brimleigh Festival, Dad. I want you to know that before I start. I’m sorry for lying.”

“I knew that.”

“But, Dad?…how?”

“Call it a father’s instinct.” Or
copper’s instinct
, he thought. “Go on.”

“I’ve been hanging around with some people. You wouldn’t like them. That’s why…why I didn’t tell you. But they’re people like me, Dad. We’re into the same music and ideas and beliefs about society and stuff. They’re different. They’re not boring, not like the kids at school. They read poetry and write and play music.”

“Students?”

“Some of them.”

“So they’re older than you?”

“What does age matter?”

“Never mind. Go on.”

Yvonne looked a little uncertain now, and Chadwick realized he would have to keep his editorial comments to a bare minimum if he hoped to get the truth from his daughter. “Everything was fine, really it was. And then…” She started trembling again, got herself under control and went on. “There’s this man called McGarrity. He’s older than the others and he acts really weird. He always scared me.”

“In what way?”

“He’s got this horrible, twisted sort of smile that makes you feel like some sort of insect, and he keeps quoting things, T.S. Eliot, the Bible, other stuff. Sometimes he just paces up and down with his knife.”

“What knife?”

“He’s got this knife, and he keeps just, you know, tapping it against his palm as he walks.”

“What kind of knife is it?”

“A flick knife with a tortoiseshell handle.”

“Which palm does he tap it against?”

Yvonne frowned, and Chadwick realized again he would have to be careful. It could wait. “Sorry,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Go on.”

“Steve says he’s just a bit weird because he had electroshock therapy. They say he used to be a great blues harmonica player, but since the electric shocks he can’t play anymore. But I don’t know…he just seems weird to me.”

“Is this the man who bothered you?”

“Yes. I went over there this afternoon to see Steve–he’s my boyfriend–but he wasn’t in and only McGarrity was there. I wanted to go, but he insisted I stay.”

“Did he force you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he forced me, but I was uncomfortable. I was just hoping Steve and the others would get back soon, that’s all.”

“Was he on drugs?”

Yvonne looked away and nodded.

“Okay. Go on.”

“He said some terrible things.”

“About what?”

“About the girl who was killed. About those dead people in Los Angeles. About me.”

“What did he say about you?”

Yvonne looked down. “He was rude. I don’t want to repeat it.”

“All right. Stay calm. Did he touch you?”

“He grabbed my arm and he touched my face. He was just so frightening. I was terrified he was going to do something.”

Chadwick felt his teeth grinding. “What happened?”

“I waited until he had his back turned to me and I ran away.”

“Good girl. Did he come after you?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t look.”

“Okay. You’re doing fine, Yvonne. You’re safe now.”

“But, Dad, what if he…”

“What if he what? Was he at Brimleigh?”

“Yes.”

“With you?”

“No, he was wandering around the field.”

“Did you see him go into the woods?”

“No. But it was dark most of the time. I wouldn’t have seen.”

“Where did this happen this afternoon?”

“Just down the road, Springfield Mount. Look, Dad, they’re all right, really, the others, Steve. It’s just him. There’s something wrong with him, I’m sure of it.”

“Did he know Linda Lofthouse?”

“Linda? I don’t…yes, yes, he did.”

Chadwick’s ears pricked up at the familiarity with which Yvonne mentioned Linda’s name. “How do you know? It’s all right, Yvonne, you can tell me the truth. I’m not going to be angry with you.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Yvonne smiled. It was an old ritual. “It was at another house, on Bayswater Terrace,” she said. “There’s three places people, like, gather, to listen to music and stuff. Springfield Mount and Carberry Place are the other two. Anyway, sometime during the summer I was with Steve, and Linda was there. McGarrity too. I mean, they didn’t know one another, they weren’t close or anything, but he
had
met her.”

Chadwick paused a moment to take it all in. Bayswater Terrace. Dennis, Julie and the rest. So Yvonne was part of
that
crowd.
His own daughter.
He held himself in check, remembering he’d promised not to be angry. Besides, the poor girl
had been through a trauma, and it had taken a lot for her to open up; the last thing she needed now was a lecture from her father. But it was hard to keep his rage inside. He felt so wound up, so tight, that his chest ached.

“You met Linda, too?” he asked.

“Yes.” Tears filled Yvonne’s eyes. “Once. We didn’t talk much, really. She just said she liked my dress and my hair, and we talked about what a drag school can be. She was so nice, Dad, how could anyone do that to her?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Chadwick said, stroking his daughter’s silky blonde hair. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was him? McGarrity?”

“I don’t know that, either, but I’m going to have to have a talk with him.”

“Don’t be too hard on Steve or the others, Dad. Please. They’re all right. Really they are. It’s only him, only McGarrity who’s weird.”

“I understand,” said Chadwick. “How do you feel now about getting up and having something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, at least come downstairs and see your mother. She’s worried sick about you.”

“Okay,” said Yvonne. “But give me a few minutes to get changed and wash my face.”

“Right you are, sweetheart.” Chadwick kissed the top of her head, left the room and headed for the telephone, jaw set hard. Later tonight, someone was going to be very sorry he had ever been born.

14

A
nnie Cabbot tried to control her temper as she waited to knock and enter Superintendent Gervaise’s office after Banks had left for Whitby. It was difficult. She had sensed that Gervaise hadn’t liked her from the start and sussed her as another ambitious woman who got where she was the hard way, who was damned if she was going to give any other woman anything less than her worst. So much for female solidarity.

Annie took several deep, calming breaths, the way she did when she was meditating or practising yoga. It didn’t work. She knocked anyway and entered even before the slightly puzzled voice called out, “Enter.”

“I’d like a word, ma’am,” said Annie.

“DI Cabbot. Please, sit down.”

Annie sat. She remembered how she had always felt slightly awed and nervous when Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe had called her into this same office, but this time she felt nothing of the kind.

“What can I help you with?”

“You were seriously out of order back there,” Annie said. “At the morning briefing.”

“I was?” Gervaise feigned surprise. At least Annie believed it was feigned.

“You have no right to make public comments about my private life.”

Superintendent Gervaise held a hand up. “Now, let’s wait a moment before we go any further. Just exactly what was it I said that has upset you so much?”

“You know damn well what it was. Ma’am.”

“We don’t seem to be getting off on the right foot here, do we?”

“You said you had no desire to argue sexual mores,
especially
with me.”

“These meetings aren’t a forum for argument, DI Cabbot, they’re called to bring everyone up to date and set the scene for more actions and lines of inquiry. You know that.”

“Yet you deliberately insulted me in front of my colleagues.”

Superintendent Gervaise regarded her as she might a particularly troublesome schoolgirl. “Well, seeing as we’re on the subject,” she said, “you do have something of a checkered history with us, don’t you?”

Annie said nothing.

“Let me remind you. You’d not been in North Yorkshire five minutes before you were jumping into bed with DCI Banks. And let me also remind you that fraternizing between fellow officers is seriously frowned upon, and liaisons between a DS, as you were then, and a DCI, are particularly fraught with dangers, as I’m sure you found out. He was your superior officer. What were you thinking of?”

Annie felt her heart beating hard in her chest. “My private life is my affair.”

“You’re not a stupid woman,” Superintendent Gervaise went on. “I know that. We all make mistakes, and they’re rarely
fatal.” She paused. “But your last one was, wasn’t it? Your last mistake almost cost DCI Banks his life.”

“We weren’t involved in anything then,” Annie said, aware as she spoke of how weak her response sounded.

“I know that.” Gervaise shook her head. “DI Cabbot, I’m not entirely certain how you’ve managed to last here so long, let alone how you were promoted to DI so quickly in the first place. Things must have been very easygoing around here back then. Or perhaps DCI Banks had a certain amount of influence with the ACC?”

Annie felt her heart about to explode at the insult, but a dreadful calm flooded her, disconcerting at first, like a sort of cooling numbness in her blood, a falling away of feeling. Then it warmed a little, transformed into a calm, altered state.
It didn’t matter.
Whatever Superintendent Gervaise thought, said or did,
it didn’t matter
. Annie cared about her career, but there were some things she just wouldn’t take, not for anything, not from anyone, and that knowledge made her feel free. She almost smiled. Gervaise must have sensed some change in the air, because there was a new edge to her voice when she noticed she wasn’t getting the desired response from Annie.

“Anyway, in case you haven’t noticed it, things have changed around here now. I won’t countenance romantic relationships among my officers. They’re distracting and sow the seeds for all kinds of mistakes and future difficulties, as you have discovered. And in the future, I would strongly suggest that you think again about continuing your relationship with DCI Banks.”

Did Gervaise really believe that Annie and Banks had got back together? Why? Had someone told her? A few moments ago Annie would have leapt out of her seat and throttled Gervaise at such words, but now she took it all in calmly. The superintendent had also known about Banks having a pint in
the Cross Keys on the night of the murder. Who had told her about that? Was there a spy in their midst? Annie didn’t react.

“DI Cabbot?”

“Sorry,” said Annie. “I was miles away.”

“That’s very irresponsible of you. You come barging in here telling me I’m not doing my job properly, and the minute you realize you’re in the wrong, you start daydreaming.”

“It wasn’t that,” Annie said. “Are we finished here?”

“Not until I say we are.”

“Ma’am.”

“This other business. Kelly Soames.”

“It’s not other business,” said Annie. “It’s all connected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I defended Kelly Soames’s sexual mores, so you attacked mine. It’s connected.”

“I thought we’d left that behind.”

“Look, you want me to subject the poor girl to the ordeal of her father finding out she’d had a sexual relationship with Nick Barber, and I said I’d given her some assurances that wouldn’t happen.”

“Those assurances weren’t yours to give.”

“I’m aware of that. Even so, you can hardly attack me for wanting to stand by my word.”

“Admirable as that may seem, it’s not workable here. This job isn’t about saving your conscience and keeping your promises. I want that girl confronted with what happened in the presence of her father, and if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”

“What is it with you? Are you a sadist or something?”

Gervaise’s lips tightened in a nasty smile. “I’m a professional detective just doing her job,” she said. “Which is something
you should take a little more seriously. Sympathy for victims is all very well, in its place, but remember that Nicholas Barber is the victim here, not Kelly Soames.”

“Not yet,” said Annie.

“Insubordination will get you nowhere.”

“No, but it feels good.” Annie stood up to leave. “There’s obviously no further point talking to you, so if you’re thinking of taking action against me, do it. I don’t care. Either shit or get off the pot.”

Gervaise’s face fell. “What did you say?”

Annie walked towards the door. “You heard me,” she said.

“Right,” said Superintendent Gervaise. “I want you on statement reading as of now. And send in DS Templeton.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Annie, and shut the door softly behind her as she left.
Templeton.
Now that made sense.

Sunday, September 21, 1969

Chadwick went in with the Springfield Mount team because that was the house where Yvonne had been accosted by McGarrity. Two other teams, also with search warrants, carried out simultaneous raids on Bayswater Terrace and Carberry Place. They waited until well after midnight, by which time Yvonne was fast asleep in bed. As any prior announcement of their presence was likely to result in drugs being flushed down the toilet, they were authorized to enter by force.

The streets were deserted, most of the houses in darkness apart from the lonely light of an insomniac here and there, or a student burning the midnight oil; a sheen of rain reflected the amber streetlights on the pavements and tarmac. Directly across from Springfield Mount was a small, triangular park, locked up for the night, wedged between two merging main
roads. At the end of the street, across the road, loomed the local grammar school, all in darkness now, with its bell tower and high windows.

The unmarked police car pulled up at the end of the street behind a patrol car. There were five officers altogether: Chadwick, Bradley and three uniforms, one of whom would guard the back. Geoff Broome was leading the Carberry team, and his colleague Martin Young the raid on Bayswater Terrace. They didn’t expect any resistance or problems, except perhaps from McGarrity, if he had his knife.

Chadwick could hear music coming from the front room, and candlelight flickered behind the curtains. Good, someone was at home. Surprise was of the essence now. When everyone was in position, Chadwick gave a nod to the uniform with the battering ram, and one smash was enough to break the lock and send the door banging back on its hinges.

As arranged, the two uniformed constables dashed upstairs to secure the upper level and Chadwick and Bradley entered the front room. The officer on guard at the back would take care of the kitchen.

In the living room, Chadwick found three people lying on the floor in advanced stages of intoxication–marijuana, judging by the smell that even two smouldering joss sticks couldn’t mask. Candles flickered and dreadful, wailing electric-guitar music came from the record player, a kangaroo with a pain in its testicles, by the sound of it, Chadwick thought.

It didn’t look as if their arrival had interrupted any deep conversations, or any conversations at all, for that matter, as they all seemed beyond speech, and one of them could only manage a quick “What the fuck?” before Chadwick announced who he was and told them the police were there to search the premises for drugs and for a knife that may have been used in
the committing of a homicide. Bradley switched on the light and turned the music off.

Things didn’t look so bad, Chadwick realized with surprise, not what he had expected, just three scruffy long-haired kids lounging around stoned, listening to what passed for music. There was no orgy; nobody was crawling around naked and drooling on the floor or committing outrageous sex acts. Then he saw the LP cover leaning against the wall. It showed a girl with long, wavy red hair and full red lips. She was naked from the belly button up, and she couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. In her hands, she cradled a chrome model airplane. What kind of perverts was he dealing with? Chadwick wondered. And one of them had been seeing his daughter. This was where Yvonne would have been tonight, had McGarrity not scared her off. This was what she would have been doing. She had been here before, done this, and that set his teeth on edge.

Bradley took their names: Steve Morrison, Todd Crowley and Jacqueline McNeil. They all seemed docile and sheepish enough. Chadwick took Steve aside to a corner of the room and gripped the front of his shirt in his fist. “Whatever comes of this,” he hissed, “I want you to stop seeing my daughter. Understand?”

Steve turned pale. “Who? Who am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Her name’s Yvonne. Yvonne Chadwick.”

“Shit, I didn’t know she…”

“Just stay away from her. Okay?”

Steve nodded, and Chadwick let him go. “Right,” he said, turning to the others. “Where’s McGarrity?”

“Dunno,” said Todd Crowley. “He was here earlier. Maybe he’s upstairs.”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing. Just listening to music.”

Chadwick gestured towards the LP cover. “Where did you get that filth?”

“What?”

“The naked child. You realize we could probably prosecute you under the Obscene Publications Act, don’t you?”

“That’s art, man,” Crowley protested. “You can buy it at any record shop. Obscenity’s in the eye of the beholder.”

There were greasy fish and chip wrappers and newspaper on the floor beside empty bottles of beer. Bradley went over to the ashtray and extracted the remains of a number of hand-rolled cigarettes he identified by their smell as being a mix of tobacco and hash. That in itself was enough to charge them with possession.

What the hell did Yvonne see in this dump? Chadwick wondered. Why did she come here? Was her life at home so bad? Was she so desperate to get away from him and Janet? But there was no point trying to work it out. As Enderby had said, it probably all came down to freedom.

Chadwick heard a brief scuffle and a bang upstairs, followed by a series of loud thumps, each one getting closer. When he went to the foot of the stairs, he saw the two uniformed constables, one without his hat, holding the arms of a man who was struggling to get up.

“He didn’t want to come with us, sir,” one of the officers said.

It looked as if they had held his arms and dragged him down the stairs backwards, which shouldn’t have done much damage to anything except his dignity and maybe his tailbone. Chadwick watched as the unruly black-clad figure with the lank dark hair and pockmarked face got to his feet and dusted himself off, the superior smirk already back in place, if indeed it had ever been gone.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “Mr. McGarrity, I assume? I’ve been wanting a word with you.”

Enderby’s local, two streets down, was like his house: comfortable and unremarkable. It was a relatively new building, late sixties from its low, squat shape and the large picture windows facing the sea. The advantages, from Banks’s point of view, were that it was practically empty at that time in the afternoon, and they sold cask-conditioned Tetley’s. One pint wouldn’t do him any harm, he decided, as he bought the drinks at the bar and carried them over.